


Mostly Business as Usual

by Macx



Series: Firewall [11]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Psychic Bond, Series, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:53:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a stressful few weeks, with Bond out on back-to-back missions and assignments, a flu epidemic at MI6 that has Q working 24/7, and barely any private moments. Now that Bond finally makes it home, it's to an exhausted quartermaster on enforced leave. Not that Bond would complain. It's just that on the road to self-discovery he gets blindsided by some aspects of his darker nature when it comes to Q.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mostly Business as Usual

February had come with snow, sleet, rain, dropping temperatures, and three back-to-back missions that had Bond out of the country for the whole month. For a week he was incommunicado, deep undercover and off the radar.

Q wasn’t worried. It just happened.

When his partner was back on the comm., Q only got a brief affirmative that the mission had been a success and that the hard drive they had been after was on its way back to MI6. Judging from the terse tone and the brisk words, the week had been stressful and probably painful, too. Q didn’t ask. If James wanted to talk about… well, Q would suspect he had a concussion.

Bond never talked about anything. He didn’t spill his emotional guts. He didn’t sit down and open up. What he did was show Q in a different way what he needed, what he wanted, what he was ready to give.

That was quite alright. It was how they functioned, and they functioned perfectly.

Q had become very much adept at reading his agent and he had become quite professional in dealing with an unleashed phoenix, when the preternatural side rose and clamored and claimed what it needed.

Right now he couldn’t give him his physical presence, but the quartermaster knew that just the awareness that Q was there, ready to be there in every way he could long-distance, was enough for the nightmarish thing inside Bond’s soul to calm down.

Because his Double-Oh had to be calm and collected and functional. He always had been and their connection wasn’t something that set him back in any way. It actually made him even better. He was faster, he was stronger, he was… younger, in a way.

Q smiled to himself as his fingers flew over the keys. He checked on his agent’s location and confirmed it.

Currently Bond was going after someone else. He had received another mission briefing and Q knew it would take him to China.

 

 

By the end of February, Q was hip-deep in trying to recover data from the hard drive that had finally been delivered to him. It had been wiped clean, but he was still trying to find anything, any little crumb or bit of data. Someone had professionally cleaned the drive and Q was knowledgeable enough to attempt the recovery. It was something not a lot of people from Q branch would attempt because if he was right, and he usually was, a wrong step meant he destroyed even the physical hard drive.

It took him almost a week of doggedly working with his team, of using his abilities when he was alone, at night, digging around the deceptively empty shell Bond had recovered. Being a technopath didn’t mean he was magically capable of reading all the lost data on the wiped drive. He had to work with a system, he had to be careful not to get lost, he had to walk baby-steps and look carefully wherever he treaded.

It was tedious, mind-numbing and headache-inducing.

He also was the head of Q branch. He had to sign off on different projects, he had to assign people, he had to keep an eye on R&D, and he had an agent to handle. Q wasn’t even contemplating the idea of handing Bond off to another handler. James wouldn’t take kindly to it and probably suspect something was wrong with the technopath. And the new handler wouldn’t thank Q either.

Bond was a nightmare to handle. He was a terror when it came to running missions. And he loved going off the grid and scaring his handlers.

No, better not do that. The other handlers were quite thankful for it, though once a young woman, fresh out of MI6’s introductory courses on how to handle a Double-Oh, had offered. Lydia McCormack was bright-eyed, eager, and brimming with knowledge. She had perfect scores in the theoretical courses, had been in the field for six months and her performance had been exemplary. She soaked up information like a sponge, was sociable, worked well with other agents, but several reviews had placed her on the other side of the comm. line, not in the middle of the action.

McCormack had accepted that, showing she was a truly good agent.

Q had declined her offer politely and paired her off with 003, who had quickly caught up to the training exercise and run the new handler through the paces. By the end of the week, McCormack knew that all the theoretical knowledge in the world couldn’t compare to the real life experience.

Yes, she had been on the agent side of the mission before, but never like this. She had always been the rookie, the assist, the sidekick. Now she was required to function in a different capacity and it was probably more stressful than the actual mission was for the agent she handled.

Q was reluctant to send her off overseas, even though she spoke five languages fluently and had proven herself as a competent agent when she had been in Russia.

M’s decision was based on Q’s analysis of her performance and the quartermaster asked for three months to test her, pair her off with various agents, Double-Ohs and regular field agents, and then he would report back on her performance.

M accepted that.

 

 

“Wouldn’t this be the perfect learning experience?” Bond asked.

Q smiled as he followed his partner’s path of destruction through Hongkong, calmly guiding him to a safer route to follow the fleeing target.

::For you or for Agent McCormack?:: he asked, bypassing the regular line and simply uplinking into his partner’s comm. device.

Bond, currently on a motorbike, wove through the traffic. “I think I could teach her a thing or two.”

::Hm, I bet you could. Take the next exit, 007. Would you even listen to her?::

Bond followed his directions. “Depends on what she is telling me.” The teasing note was clearly audible. “Maybe she is a good teacher herself. I like a new learning experience.”

::I believe she was told about your one-liners in her introductory courses::

“There is so much more to me, Q.”

::Yes, there is. He took the second street coming up on the left. It’s a one-way route.::

Bond veered sharply to the left, evading angrily honking drivers, still closing in on their target.

“Maybe I should introduce myself to her when I’m back.”

::Or maybe you shouldn’t scare all new handlers::

“I never scare them.”

::You only send them off crying out of frustrated lust or terror.::

“I teach them, Q. And they’ll deal.”

::It’s me who has to deal with them later, 007. I’d appreciate it if you would think of that::

“I always think of you, Q.”

He lifted a corner of his mouth in a tiny smile, the only admission to how those words touched him.

::Please think of returning my equipment in one piece. That would be very much appreciated.::

“Where is he?”

Q turned slightly, nodding at Tanner, who had approached him almost unseen. He hadn’t startled at the sudden voice, though. Q prided himself on not startling like a rookie and always being in firm control.

“Currently at the outskirts of Hongkong, following Romanov, and destroying valuable property.”

Tanner sighed. “Nothing new then. Does Romanov have the plans?”

“Bond suspects he does. If his rather obvious flight is a distraction from another target he is very good.”

It got Q a brief look, then a nod.

 

 

Twenty minutes later Bond took down Romanov and had the plans.

 

 

Three hours after that he was on his way back to England, though he was detoured in Berlin when a new mission took priority to coming home.

Bond took it in stride.

Q simply made sure that accommodations were booked, that his agent had the necessary papers when he arrived, and that a car was ready. He also deleted all evidence of the Double-Oh staying in Berlin instead of flying on home, made up the new cover, and set up an account for Bond to use.

All in a day’s work.

 

* * *

 

The sky was heavy with clouds in all shades of gray, the wind was cold and dead leaves danced over the streets with each gust.

Charles Barker, the second-in-command of Q branch, had called Q to let him know he wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week because he was a total wreck, thanks to a viral flu bug that had gripped the whole country. Offices were deserted, school classes were down to a third of their usual pupils, doctors’ offices were overflowing with sick people, and even MI6 was suffering the consequences.

Q had stopped counting how many of his underlings had called in sick and was simply thankful for everyone who had made it to work. He filled in where he was needed, be it as a handler or a programmer, and he cut back on whatever wasn’t important.

 

*

 

It was M who had the final word in kicking him out of MI6. He was one of the few who hadn’t come down with the bug, though he did look a little sickly.

“Go before I do something extreme, Q. You’re dead on your feet.”

“I’m fine,” the quartermaster argued.

“Of course you bloody are. Not. Go home, Q.”

Q wasn’t sick.

He was just tired. Dead on his feet tired.

There was little anyone could do against a flu bug that had hit the city.

It was just the time of the year.

“Q… go home,” M repeated. “That’s an order. Barker is back and he can take over. Your department won’t fall apart without you.”

Q cocked an eyebrow and Mallory glowered.

“Go.”

So he went.

 

*

 

He made it to the flat without causing a major accident by running into a car, though he felt like packed in cotton wool. It was weird how the world seemed to slip-slide away from him at moments, like part of him had moved while the majority was standing still. His eyes burned and no amount of coffee or strong tea could counteract more than thirty hours without sleep.

The elevator ride up to the top was almost enough to bring him to his knees. The seconds ticking by where he could only stand and concentrate on not just sliding down the wall were endless. Q curled his fist around the key in his hand, the teeth biting into his palm, a welcome distraction from the exhaustion.

Unlocking the door was a monumental task.

He walked into the flat, logging into the private network to authorize his entrance, on autopilot.

Lock the door. Off with the jacket and shoes. Q grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and gave himself a jolt as he pressed the icy surface against his forehead.

It didn’t last, though.

The bed’s call was like a siren’s song and if he left his clothes in a pile on the floor, so be it. He couldn’t care less.

Q felt the world tilt again, going out of sync with him or maybe he wasn’t in sync with the world. It was dizzying, it was disturbing, and when he crawled between the sheets, reality was nothing but an afterthought. He simply closed his eyes and everything seemed to slide away.

Everything.

 

*

 

He didn’t wake when the door opened and closed outside.

He didn’t hear the footsteps of someone else in the flat.

He didn’t react to the door to the bedroom opening and another presence entering.

Q slept on; he trusted in the safety of the apartment.

 

*

 

Bond looked at the man in his bed. He smiled as he studied the pale, unshaven features, exhaustion written so clearly in every line. The unruly hair was even more mussed, hanging into his forehead. Clothes were everywhere, but he couldn’t care less.

The Double-Oh had come back a few hours ago. Q branch had been almost deserted when he had come to deliver his equipment and he had been taken by surprise that his quartermaster hadn’t been there. The stand-in had been a young tech nerd who had stared at Bond, while trying not to, and had almost stammered when the agent had asked him politely where Q was.

Youth, he mused. Truly not always what they promise to be. Easy to impress and even easier to startle with a look.

Bond had reported back to Tanner, who had looked like death warmed over. He had been sick for a week and still wasn’t back in shape, but coherent enough to fill in for those who hadn’t returned, it seemed. The phoenix never got sick, so Bond couldn’t really relate to having coughs, sniffles and fevers. Q hadn’t been sick either, though it was probably not a preternatural ability for a technopath.

Now he was home, with Q, who was dead asleep in their bed.

The phoenix didn’t move for a long time, just watching its mate, watching the man it couldn’t think of living without. For such a fierce, deadly, terrifying creature it was… docile. Looking at Q, taking in the slender form, pliable and warm and sleeping, the phoenix was currently very far from the nightmarish horror it represented.

Something inside of Bond curled up in warmth and the utter rightness of this picture. Q was everything he wanted and needed. Nothing and no one could replace him.

The creature he was, the thing that was part of his soul, rumbled. It was hard and cold, filled with intense fire and the hunger for blood and violence, and it wanted Q in so many ways and none of them violent. It wanted its mate to be safe. It wanted him with him, only for Bond.

His.

Q was his.

No one else would ever have him.

The agent undressed and slid into the large double bed, eyes never leaving his partner, his anchor, his balance and so much more. Q didn’t even stir. He was utterly exhausted and drained.

The phoenix rumbled softly, watching the sleeping quartermaster, the pale blue eyes sharp and taking in every line and every soft breath.

He had missed Q. His voice, the banter, the presence with him through the comm. lines. Bond was very well able to operate without a handler, but if he had to listen to someone, let himself be guided, it would be Q.

He trusted him implicitly.

They were bound together on so many levels, there would never be another partner for him. He would act his role on a job, sleep with whoever he had to, to achieve his goal, but they meant nothing. Only Q did.

Just being here, close, without touching, gave the phoenix an incredible, soul-deep peace. All the tension drained from Bond’s muscles and he felt himself relax. He was only James now. Not 007. Not an agent, No one and nothing. He was the phoenix, of course. Here, it was even stronger, it was a powerful creature, an abyss of darkness and terror and a nightmare.

But it was tame.

It was a soft presence, despite the ever-present sharp claws. It was almost purring, humming, curled up and enjoying the moment. Wings stretched almost lazily, protective, ready to shield its mate, and the claws flexed a little.

_Mine. Mine to have. Mine to protect._

James smiled.

It was belonging, not just claiming. This wasn’t one-sided and he was far from dominant. Q wasn’t submissive, gave back as good as Bond, and he enjoyed the challenge the agent represented.

The smile grew.

He moved close, feeling the body heat from his partner, and as if Q realized who was with him, he curled into the other body. James gently carded his fingers through the dark hair and pressed a close-mouthed kiss against one temple.

Q seemed to sigh.

Bond settled down, let his partner snuggle even closer, then he closed his eyes.

Yes, he enjoyed the moment.

 

* * *

 

Q woke to a new day, the middle of a day, and light streaming through the half-closed blinds. He blinked, a bit puzzled by the light. His brain was a mushy, gooey thing in his head, refusing to function normally. He wasn’t numbed because he felt his network, felt the technology all around him. He also wasn’t in any danger of zoning out, despite his semi-awake condition.

As a technopath, Q had grown in the past year. He had found his anchor, he had found new ways to access what he was, to evolve and let it all grow. He owed it to the anchor bond and he owed it to James. There were no limitations for a preternatural like Q, but he had set up his own boundaries, which he wouldn’t cross for now. Despite the anchor, it would be way too easy to get lost on his own.

That Bond was mostly out of the country didn’t help him developing past those artificial border lines. But that was them and Q was quite aware of it all.

Baby-steps. In every way.

The phoenix seemed to thrive under the balancing influence of the younger man, and James had become the agent that he had been. He had truly come back to life in so many ways.

It simply was who they were. Two very different men, two very different preternaturals, with their own limitations. With their own speed of evolution. Q wasn’t negatively influenced by it; he didn’t feel anger or jealousy. He knew that should his brain decide to jump ahead of his own development he might end up a vegetable; and his mind could still get lost in the technology around him.

No, better slow and safe than fast and sorry.

Right now those thoughts weren’t really in his head. There was hardly a coherent thought aside from wondering how he had slept through sunrise.

He rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom on automatic. The pale, unshaven face that reflected in the mirror didn’t really look like him.

Not that shaving the stranger would help make him more into Q. right now, nothing would help.

Well, maybe a shower.

Q took a very long, hot shower, reviving a little more, and when he had finally dried off, he felt more capable handling a razor. He didn’t prefer the ancient method that Bond used, but wielding an electronic device in his fuzzy condition was… a challenge.

He managed to dress without running into the dresser, the bed or the wall. He simply picked up a few things laying around, slipping into the leisurely clothes. His brain didn’t register color or size, even if the shirt was a bit too big, and he finally walked out into the open living room that would lead into the kitchen.

The first thing Q noticed was that it was rather late in the day. No blinds were down in the living room. Or the kitchen. The sun was lower than midday.

Second, there was the smell of coffee. And bacon. Curious.

Third, there was James Bond.

Sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper, dressed in sweats.

Q blinked.

Wintery eyes looked at him, pale and so blue it was unnatural. The phoenix was predominant, Q saw. It was watching him like a hawk, dangerous, a nightmare, a horror even in the world of the supernatural and preternatural, and still… there was more. The ruggedly handsome face was carefully schooled, but the fire in those eyes was unmistakable as they ran up and down his body.

There was a need, a warmth, a longing, and it wasn’t hidden.

_Wow_ , part of Q’s brain thought. _Just… wow._

Like looking at his partner for the first time, and even back then, in the Gallery, he hadn’t been pulled this much toward the overpowering presence. Back then it had been his job and he had done it professionally, words measured, features schooled. He hadn’t tried to impress; he had been himself.

The attraction had come later, and it had crept up on him. It had been this slow burn that had developed into a wildfire that was not yet contained, far from it, and might never be.

“Bond,” he finally managed. It was more of a statement than a question.

When had his partner come back? Why had no one informed him? What day was today?

Q checked almost automatically. That much of his brain was still working and moving through his own network was easy.

March 3rd. 01:27 p.m.

Bloody hell!

“Q,” Bond replied amiably, though his expression was more intense now. His voice had a slightly gritty edge, rougher than normal.

Q could almost feel the phoenix pushing further forward, coming out into the open as if it was needed. It wasn’t just there to watch any longer. It wanted something, but it wasn’t the untamed, barely controlled hunger after a violent rebirth.

Bond rose, fluid and lithe and so much like the predator he was. Q could only stand where he was and appreciate the display of power and perfectly honed muscles. The dark gray t-shirt did nothing to hide the physique he knew so well and he really didn’t have to imagine those legs covered by equally gray sweat pants.

James was bare-footed.

It shouldn’t be so appealing, especially when he wasn’t running on all cylinders, but it was.

Bond was sex on legs right now, in a very rugged way. In a way that had something inside Q uncurl and take notice. It had him react despite his best effort. He was looking at his partner, his agent, the man for whom he felt so much more. And he wanted him.

He had missed him.

Just a few weeks, a few days completely without any contact, and he behaved and felt like… like some hormonal teenager.

Q cursed himself for being such a needy creature. A month without Bond and he was salivating over little things.

Then again, looking at the man in question, there was the same need reflected in those eyes.

“Q,” Bond murmured, all rough and low, his voice hitting all those special spots already.

“007,” Q replied, their game, as always, a teasing foreplay.

Broad, calloused hands slid over the loose shirt he was wearing and Bond seemed to rumble his appreciation. His lips brushed over Q’s temple, along the still damp hair, and the quartermaster felt the presence increase.

This was James’ instinctual side. His primal mode. For some reason.

Not that he minded.

He wasn’t afraid of the phoenix, had never been terrified by what it represented, and he had looked into the monster’s eyes often before. James didn’t scare him, no. This was what Bond truly was, underneath the human guise, the control and the distance. This was the creature, the deadly, primal thing, and it was… Q’s.

There was no other description for it.

“You forgot your glasses,” Bond murmured.

Oh.

Yes.

Q was a bit dumbfounded.

He hadn’t slipped on his shields. Because that was what the glasses were. Protection against the danger of sliding into the fascinating world of the web. A simple security camera could do it, drag him inside, and the glasses were his way of preventing that.

But he was in his own flat, his home, and there was no such danger. He had made sure of it.

“I don’t need them,” he replied, automatically switching to a slightly chastising tone of voice.

“You’re safe here,” the preternatural agreed, lips dragging over the soft skin of Q’s temple.

A hand slipped underneath the shirt, meeting bare skin, and Q wrapped a long-fingered hand around the strong neck, guiding those infuriating lips into a kiss.

Teeth nipped at his lower lip, playful, teasing, but with intent.

Q felt himself react. The last remnants of sleep had been chased away a while ago and he felt nothing but his own hunger for his partner.

He pushed into the kiss.

Bond pushed back.

When he pulled back for a second, Q looked into almost silvery blue eyes, and he smiled.

Then his lips were claimed again.

Suddenly Bond stepped back and Q blinked, confused.

“Breakfast?” his agent offered.

Another blink. Damn! Food, yes. Sure. He could eat. But right now he was hungry for something else.

From Bond’s mischievous expression, his partner knew it.

 

 

When Q had stepped out of the bedroom, Bond had looked up from his paper, eyes falling on the still rather exhausted looking, younger man. And he had taken in what Q was wearing. Old sweat pants and a white dress shirt, mostly unbuttoned.

His clothes. Bond’s clothes. All of them Bond’s clothes. He had dropped the dress shirt over a chair last night, not bothering with the hamper when he had undressed to get into bed.

His clothes.

Something inside his brain seemed to freeze, fixating on the fact that his partner was wearing his clothes. Too big for the slender frame, but still…

The phoenix rumbled in appreciation, a primal longing rising inside the Double-Oh that he hadn’t felt like this… ever. Actually, ever. This was new. This was unexpected. It was arousing and warming and settling deep within him, making him want something Bond couldn’t really put into words.

But it involved Q. And Bond’s clothes.

He took a deep breath and mentally steeled himself.

Q didn’t seem to sense any of his conflict, too sleep-muddled and still a bit uncoordinated, which was amusing to watch. His glasses were off, making him even seem younger than he normally looked.

_Bloody hell, I’m robbing the cradle_ , the Double-Oh thought with an air of amusement. Q looked barely old enough to drink! In certain parts of the world, Bond might get looked at with either jealousy or suspicion with such a young looking escort.

Not that he minded.

It just reminded him of the fact that they weren’t the likeliest combination and no one would believe that their relationship was very steady and marked by more than just good sex. The give and take involved a lot more than orgasms.

Bond smiled fondly as his quartermaster pushed back damp hair and tried to at least give a good impression of being awake.

He wasn’t.

Not by a long-shot.

Of course he knew how long Q had worked, how much he had tried to do as his department was falling victim to the flu bug going around. He had delegated, only to have people fall sick, and work had piled up. Unimportant or secondary projects had been put on hold, but there were agents out there in the world that needed information or equipment, and Q had tried his best.

Mallory had told Bond to get his arse home and take care of their quartermaster.

Bond had been only too willing to comply with that order.

Now he was looking at his bonded partner and he wanted nothing more than to touch, to kiss, to feel…

He rose without even thinking consciously about it, closing the distance, hands sliding over shirt material and skin.

“Q,” he murmured, feeling the hunger rise.

“007,” was the automatic reply and it had him yearn even more for this man.

He kissed his quartermaster’s temple, felt Q’s touch, felt his response. The phoenix clamored for more, wanted to claim what he hadn’t been able to touch for a month, but Bond pushed back the primal instinct, the creature inside him, and gentled the need.

Q pulled him into a kiss and it was almost enough to undo the control, but he refused to take advantage of his quartermaster. Q needed to eat something, drink his three mandatory cups of tea, and he probably needed to sleep some more.

“Breakfast?” Bond managed.

Q blinked, slightly confused, and Bond almost laughed at the warring confusion and anger because he had stopped the kissing. His quartermaster was clearly aroused, wanting more of what they had started, but valiantly tried to gather his wits about him.

It made him simply more adorable and Bond felt his resolution to feed Q first and then see about their other needs later waver.

Q tilted his head. “It’s nearly two. In the afternoon. I believe it is a bit late for breakfast.”

“It’s never too late,” James replied.

Q peered past him and his eyes fixed on the makings of a big breakfast on the stove. Tea was steeping next to it. Bond only had to turn on the stove and Q would have his food in no time. His brows rose.

“You really are still asleep,” Bond teased him, his hand still underneath the dress shirt, stroking warm skin.

_His shirt, his shirt, his shirt_ , part of him repeated over and over.

Bloody hell, what was wrong with him?

_Nothing_ , another part murmured, laced with lust and possessive need. _He’s mine. Mine!_

The remark got him a half-hearted glare, and there was something in Q’s eyes that told Bond that his partner was aware of something else going on.

“You want to make me breakfast?” Q asked.

“Or a late lunch. Or an early dinner.”

“I would start with tea if you could let go of me, 007,” he pointed out.

Bond shrugged. It took quite an effort to let go of the slender form. He would never claim to be a tactile creature, though he liked to touch Q – a lot when they were alone, in private – and he wasn’t bound by smell. So Q wearing his clothes wasn’t a thing of Q smelling like him. He wasn’t a werewolf. Wolves were fixated on their mates smelling like them.

No, the phoenix was a preternatural with a psychic connection to the young technopath and that had nothing to do with how he dressed.

And still…

All of it playing together, their weeks apart, Q’s vulnerable looks, his sleepiness, Bond’s need, and then the shirt… it had all been too much for the primal creature.

It wanted.

Bond wanted.

He watched Q pick up the tea and sip it carefully. A smile crossed the soft lips, making something inside the seasoned agent turn from icy cold to fiery.

Just because he was wearing Bond’s clothes.

Damn.

“Are you okay?”

Q’s question drew him out of his thoughts and he carefully schooled his features.

Not that he had a snow ball’s chance in Hell to fool his partner. Q’s brows rose and Bond fought down the irrational need to grab him, kiss him senseless, bend him over the desk… He forcefully put a lid on that.

“James?”

Very forcefully.

“Did something happen?” Q asked, his features suddenly sharper, his full attention now on his agent. Gone was the last trace of exhaustion. This was his quartermaster in full handler mode.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he grated.

From his emotional condition it felt like he might have died without his knowledge and now the phoenix wanted to reaffirm the bond.

Q stepped closer, eyes never leaving Bond’s face. The phoenix snarled softly underneath the human façade. It wanted out, it wanted Q, and Bond felt a muscle in his jaw tick.

“James.”

His fingers grabbed the hem of the dress shirt, pulling the younger man closer, hands fisting into the white material. He nipped at the red lips, tasting the tea, Earl Grey, and Q. The nips became bites, became hunger, became burning need.

“I need you,” he whispered.

Q answered the kiss with the same hunger and need. “You have me.”

“Want all of you.”

“Whatever you want.”

“You. Bed.”

Q smiled. “So, no breakfast after all?”

Bond smiled hungrily, showing teeth that looked more predatory than gentle.

His quartermaster smiled back, not the slightest taken aback.

“No breakfast,” he sighed with a dramatic edge. “You owe me dinner then.”

“Whatever you want, Q.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Q asked suspiciously as he was backing towards the bedroom.

“Very much.”

“Bond…”

His last name, spoken like a warning. The Double-Oh silenced him with a kiss. He was truly okay, didn’t need more than this. His preternatural side was balanced and calm and very far from the violently hungering thing it could be after a rebirth.

“I’m okay,” he whispered into one ear. “Nothing happened.”

Q studied him closely, then finally nodded.

Bond smiled cockily.

His quartermaster smiled back at him. “You’re a nightmare.”

“You’re always telling me that. And still here you are.”

“Here I am.”

They kissed again, exploring and tasting each other, hands massaging, stroking, petting, touching.

Q went with the flow.

 

* * *

 

“The shirt?”

The way Q looked at him, wide-eyed and slightly flabbergasted, had Bond grin. It was a slow, satisfied grin. He was completely naked, in bed, on top of the sheets, with not a care in the world. He felt loose, at ease, completely sated.

In every single way.

Q stared at him as if he had lost his mind, then reached down and pulled the dress shirt off the floor. He looked at it, then slipped it on.

The phoenix rose with renewed interest, the fire sparking through Bond, and he stared hard at the slender man in bed with him. Q bore the marks of their very intense encounter, and Bond was sure he did, too. He might be a phoenix and could rise from the dead, but he didn’t heal injuries right on the spot. Quicker than a normal human, sure, but not right away.

“You’re a nightmare,” Q sighed and shook his head. There was a fond note to his voice.

He grabbed the shirt and pulled him close, kissing those tasty lips. “Yours.”

“Hm, thank god. Wouldn’t want to inflict you on anyone else.”

Bond smiled against Q’s lips. “Sometimes.”

“Never completely.”

That shot sparks through the agent that had nothing to do with sex. It was something easily confused as desire, but it was more of a possessive nature that echoed along their bond.

“No,” he said roughly, fighting not to just push the slender quartermaster down and fuck him through the mattress.

Shit.

Q smirked and settled over his legs, naked aside from the shirt, and he was the one pushing Bond down by his wrists. The shirt fell open, tickling Bond’s sides, and the ice blue eyes lit up with the untamed hunger.

“You get off on me wearing your clothes?” his quartermaster asked with a chuckle, settling more firmly on the hard-muscled thighs.

Bond grunted, testing the grip his partner had on his wrists. It wasn’t enough to truly hold him, but it was strong.

Q leaned closer. His teeth scraped over Bond’s stubbled jaw, nipping, biting gently, and James smiled lazily.

“You do,” Q purred.

“Q?”

“Hm?”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game,” he growled, voice like broken glass and reflecting his waning control.

It didn’t help that the younger man was moving minutely, grinding his hard dick against Bond’s in a teasing rhythm.

“I always do,” was the easy reply, the movement increasing. Q was nuzzling along the sharply cut jaw, then he delivered harder bites to Bond’s throat.

The phoenix shifted, wanted to take over, but Bond refused to let go of it right now. He actually enjoyed the change of position. It wasn’t the first time and Q had had the pleasure of taking him often before. He didn’t mind relinquishing control to his partner, his mate. He trusted Q implicitly and he enjoyed himself in both positions.

Q let go of the trapped wrists, drawing strong fingers over Bond’s firmly muscled arms, along his chest, teasing nipples, his mouth and teeth following the path of his fingers. Blunt nails flicked against one hard nub.

The blue eyes were almost pale silver now.

Q held the gaze of the primal creature, smiling knowingly, then slid fluidly back and let his mouth claim his prize.

Bond briefly closed his eyes, not even trying to stifle the groan that escaped his throat. He pushed himself up on his elbows, legs spread, watching Q bring him off with skill and teeth and fingers and a mouth that was pure sin.

Suddenly the technopath pulled back, lips red and glistening, eyes dark and blown wide. He took in the phoenix who was just about hanging on to control by one last claw and crawled over the tense, athletic form.

“Q…” Bond warned, the edge to his voice tell-tale.

“Yours,” Q only offered.

His offer was taken and it was taken hard. Bond slid into him, moving smoothly until he bottomed out, and Q groaned his approval.

Hungry, claiming what was his, not holding back. Q didn’t surrender easily. He pushed back, tore apart the last chains, let the phoenix swoop over him in its full glory.

He had never been submissive.

He would never be submissive.

James smiled and kissed him, gentler than one might expect, hips making tiny moves that had his quartermaster want so much more.

“I like you in my shirt, Q,” he rumbled.

Q grinned. “I’m quite aware of it.”

Another small move and he groaned softly.

“A lot.”

A harder move.

Q grabbed the blond head and pulled Bond into an equally hard kiss, biting his lower lip with more force. It was like a final invitation and Bond let go.

Completely.

And Q enjoyed it very, very much.

 

* * *

 

They lay together, the soft evening light streaming through the windows, making it a perfect moment in time. James had a hand underneath the loose shirt Q was still wearing, caressing warm skin without trying to arouse. His head was resting on his partner’s chest, listening to each breath, each heartbeat. It was so soothing, so reassuring, so wonderfully peaceful. Gentle fingers carded through his short hair and stroked across it.

Bond almost purred with delight.

He could still feel those tight muscles surround him, hear Q's harsh breathing. He ran a hand over the curve of his mate's ribs, down to a hip. Q moved sleepily and brown eyes opened. He smiled.

James smiled back, keeping up the caress, and leaned over, pressing their lips together.

"You okay?”

"More than okay.”

Q stretched lazily and winced only a little as abused muscles protested. His abdominal muscles twitched as Bond stroked over the warm skin.

James kept up the caress, enjoying the mellow feeling deep within his soul. The phoenix was curled up and completely sated.

He was completely sated.

Only Q managed that. No other woman, or man, he had bedded had ever settled the preternatural like his bonded partner did. Q gazed at him, very much aware of those thoughts most likely.

Those rare emotions rose with a vengeance, those soft, gentle feelings associated with more than just sex or a partnership.

James loved him. The phoenix loved him.

He felt the strongest at times like these. Ever since New York, ever since the werewolf case, Bond had been unable to stop himself anymore.

“James?”

He looked into the deep eyes, smiling warmly. Bond leaned down and kissed his bonded; gently, lovingly, warmly.

“Q,” he whispered into one ear when his trail of kisses led him to it.

“You okay?”

He chuckled and nipped at one lobe. “Never been better.”

_I love you._

Q’s caress was calming, grounding, centering him in this very moment.

They traded kisses. Not trying to arouse. Just… reaffirming.

_I love you._

“I need you,” James said roughly.

_And I love you._

Q smiled, all soft and pliable. “You know I feel the same. No words are needed.”

“Sometimes they are.”

“Not when I already know them.”

James gazed at him, amazed by how lucky he was. Amazed how well M had known him. Amazed how it had worked out, even if she had died before she could see the result of her manipulations.

He lost himself in the next kiss. It was warm and deep and gentle and had none of the frantic, hungry claiming. It relayed something deep inside his soul, was received and answered, it freed him in a way, reassured him that Q was right here with him.

“I love you,” he finally said.

Q framed his face, looking younger than his years, wearing a rumpled, stained, formerly crisp and white dress shirt that was actually Bond’s, and he smiled.

The phoenix rose like the beautiful fire bird it was, spreading its wings, enveloping their souls, and the technopath was completely open to him. He felt the resonance over the bond, felt his partner, the phoenix’s balance and mate, and James rested his forehead against Q’s.

Strong arms enveloped him, held him close.

“I love you,” Q murmured.

Bond relaxed into the embrace, all loose muscles and emotional openness. He smiled against the warm skin. It wasn’t new; it was a little unexpected, though.

It felt like the last pieces were finally sliding into place, cementing something that was already unbreakable.

Q scratched his fingers through the short, blond strands, a soothing gesture that had James close his eyes.

A rumble disturbed the warm feelings and Bond chuckled. Q echoed the amusement.

“Hungry, Q?”

“You promised me dinner.”

“I did.”

Q was silent, waiting. Finally, “This is leading to take-out, am I right?”

“You want to leave?” James asked evenly.

“Not particularly.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Depends on what you plan for delivery.” The smile was audible.

“I have a meat craving.”

Q laughed and pulled gently at a few longer strands. “I’ll leave ordering up to you then. I believe I need a shower.”

Bond smirked as he pushed himself up, looking down at the prone quartermaster. “I’ll tell them to take their time then.”

And he got up.

 

 

Q enjoyed the view of a firm, naked behind, leading up to a strong, nicely defined back that showed a few old scars and freckles he had mapped to perfection already. James wasn’t shy about his nudeness and he actually leaned back against the table, completely at ease, also completely on display, as he called in for their take-out.

Okay, it was time for that shower! A phoenix might be able to recover quickly in that regard, but the technopath didn’t, though the appreciation for the perfectly shaped body was always the beginning for more than just visual enjoyment of James Bond.

And yes, okay, so Bond joined him and it led to a very intense blow job that had his phoenix groan his name. Q knew he was good and he wasn’t shy about it.

“Took the edge off?” he asked teasingly as he rinsed off.

“Barely.”

“You’re a nightmare,” he said fondly as he towelled off, just in time as the bell rang and delivery arrived.

That the student who delivered stared openly while trying not to had Q fight back a smile. Bond really wasn’t shy and that towel was very... revealing. The young woman blushed and Q tipped her well, then shook his head.

“Nightmare,” he only repeated.

And he loved him.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the idea thrown my way by Fangirl1138 again. She wanted Q to wear Bond’s shirt or t-shirt and, of course, Bond sees it.
> 
> I tried to make it a short fic. I failed. Miserably. *hangs head* I blame the antibiotics and the flu bug.


End file.
